He was going out the door when Ackroyd called out. "Hey, Carny."

Tachyon winced.

Ray turned around with a dangerous glint in his green eyes. "That's Carnifex, asshole."

"Carnifex Asshole," Jay repeated.

Tachyon winced again, and closed his eyes.

"I'll try and remember," Jay continued. "How many of those Good Humor suits you own?"

"Six or eight," Carnifex said suspiciously. "Why?"

"Must be hell to get the bloodstains out," Jay said. Tachyon couldn't believe he was hearing this. As a child Ackroyd must have enjoyed kicking over ant hills, and investigating beehives.

Ray glared at the detective. "Stay out of my way, shamus," he said, "or you'll find out firsthand." He slammed the door behind him.

"Shamus," Jay said. "He actually called me shamus. God, I'm so mortified." He turned to Tachyon. "You gonna go?" Tach straightened, and lifted his chin. "I must."

Jay sighed. "I was afraid you were going to say something like that."

Maybe he'd got some sleep, maybe he'd just passed out from time to time. He figured he better do what he had to before all motor coordination went to hell and he couldn't punch the numbers on his cellular phone.

"The Reverend Barnett, please."

"May I say who's calling?" The female voice spoke with a heavy Spanish accent.

"This is Jack Braun."

The accented voice was prim. "The Reverend Barnett is not available to anyone, Mr. Brown. He is in a prayer vigil expected to last until-"

"He'll talk to me!" Jack's voice rose to a near shout. "Sir," with feigned patience, "the Reverend Barnett-"

"Tell him," Jack said, "that I can deliver California." There was a long pause before the voice returned. "I will connect you to Miss van Renssaeler."

Little hangover stilettos entered Jack's eyes at the mention of the name.

At least he was getting closer to the reverend.

He's coming. Puppetman could sense Tachyon's arrival from Billy Ray's disgust. We're making a mistake not trying to take him…

No! Gregg was vehement. He's too strong for us. If we attack him that way, he'll have an excuse to retaliate. My way's better.

You're weak. You're feeling guilty.

The accusation was too close. Yes, he was feeling guilty. He'd known Tachyon for twenty years, after all. Just shut up, he told Puppetman. Let me handle this.

Sure. Sure. Who else has he told? Hiram knows. Maybe lots of others…

Shut up!

Gregg was facing out of the window as Billy-with obvious ill will-ushered Tachyon into the suite. "One traitor for you, Senator," Ray said as he held the door open. "Wonder how much they paid the little creep?" Ray shut the door behind Tachyon so closely that the alien had to step quickly into the room or have it strike his leg.

Gregg continued to shuffle through the pages of the folder he held in his hands, slowly and deliberately turning the pages. He waited until he heard Tachyon sniff in irritation.

"Say whatever it is you want to say, Senator. I do not have a great deal of time to waste on you."

The words hurt, more than they should have. I didn't do those things, he wanted to say. Puppetman did them. But he couldn't say that because Puppetman was listening. He turned around to face the red-haired alien and tossed the folder on the coffee table in front of Tachyon. "Damned interesting reading matter, that," he said. "Go on, Doctor. Pick it up."

Tachyon glared, but he snatched up the folder with delicate fingers. He riffled through the pages stamped with justice Department seals and shrugged. "What is it, Senator? Play out this farce and be done with it."

"It's simple enough, Doctor." Hartmann seated himself in one of the chairs, lounging back. He put his feet on the coffee table with studied nonchalance. "You invaded mv mind and took ammunition to use against me. I don't like being stuck with an empty revolver in a duel. So I went looking for things about you. I wondered who was whispering about me in your ear. I wondered where the lies might have come from."

"They are not lies, Senator. I saw the disgusting, perverted filth in your head. We both know that."

Please, Puppetman begged at the insult. Let me try. No!

Gregg waved a hand. "Someone convinced you to rape my mind, Doctor. I know Hiram was partially involved, but Hiram reallv wants to believe in me. He's not the source. Mv guess was that it had to be Sara, and if it was Sara,, she might have been working in concert with someone else. You see, I know Kahina-you remember poor Kahina, Doctor?-had talked with Sara. I know she and Gimli had had contact with another man, a Russian. I even had a photograph. And I have friends in high places, remember, Doctor? They checked a few other things out for me, checked backgrounds and chronologies. You'd be surprised at what they'd found, or then maybe, just maybe, you wouldn't."

Gregg shook his head. He gave Tachyon the famous crooked half-smile that had become the cartoonist's icon for Hartmann. "It's actually ironic, isn't it, Doctor? The HUAC folks were right all along. You always were a goddamn communist from outer space."

Tachyon had gone white. His body shook, his lips were pressed together into a hard line. Puppetman caught the overflow of emotions and chuckled. Got him. We got him.

"Bang," Gregg said. "You see, I've got a few bullets, too. One called Blaise, and one called Polyakov-and other names. Very high-caliber ammo."

"You can prove nothing," Tachyon blustered. "Your own people say Polyakov is dead. Kahina is dead. Gimli is dead."

"Everyone you touch seems to be dead. All you have is hearsay and innuendo. No facts."

"Polyakov has been seen here, in Atlanta. The other facts would be easy enough to find," Gregg told him comfortably. "But I don't want to go to the trouble."

"And what is it you do want?"

"You know that as well as I do, Doctor. I want you to say you made a mistake. I want you to tell the press and the delegates that it was all a private misunderstanding between me and you, and that everything's patched up again. We're friends. We're pals. And you'd sure as hell be disappointed if everyone didn't vote for me. If you don't want to actively campaign for me, fine. Leave Atlanta after you make your statement to the press. But if you don't do that, I will start digging for those facts you're so casually dismissing. You might take the nomination away from me, Tachyon, but I'll make sure you get dragged down with me-you and that upstart grandson as well."

It had worked. Gregg was certain of it. Tachyon blustered wordlessly, his fists clenched around the folder so that the cardboard crumpled, bright spots of color on his cheeks. The prissy little wimp was about to goddamn cry, his eyes welling with tears.

We've won. Even if all he does is keep his mouth shut, we've won. We'll be okay. You see? Gregg told Puppetman. And after this is over, we'll find a way to take him out. Finally and permanently.

Tachyon was crying, a line of wetness trailing down from both eyes. He drew himself up like a bantam rooster, his chest puffed up, and he glared at Hartmann. Gregg laughed, scornfully.

"We have a deal, then," Gregg said. "Good. I'll have Amy set up the press conference-"

"No," Tachyon said.

He hurled the folder at Gregg. Papers scattered like ghostly autumn leaves. "No!" Tachyon said again, and this time it was a defiant, weeping shout. "You may do as you wish, Senator, but no. You may go to hell. And as for your threats to take me with you, I don't care. I have been there before." Tachyon turned to leave as Gregg shot to his feet. Puppetman howled inside, frantic. "You son of a bitch!" he screamed at Tachyon. "You stupid bastard! All I have to do is make one phone call and you're finished! You'll lose everything!"

Tachyon glared back at Gregg with smoldering violet eyes. " I lost everything important long ago," he told Gregg. "You can't threaten me with that."